


a change of pace

by sunnilee



Series: best laid plans [lay them to rest] [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Relationship, an inkling of them, as ur future doc: please... in moderation... do it for ur liver, but she'll try when directly confronted with them, communication issues bc these kids leave a lot of their problems unresolved, i'm boutta do some CBT on all of them (and i mean cognitive behavior therapy thank u LOL), ingrid's not very good at processing her emotions, more tags as I add more chapters, or at least, rating to T bc alcohol do bring out the truth and the embarrassment of us, theyre so cute together but theyre also so bad at saying what they mean at the right time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnilee/pseuds/sunnilee
Summary: The Faerghus Four have a long standing tradition to celebrate for 3 weeks straight to cover Dimitri's birthday, Christmas, New Years, and Ingrid's birthday. As time passed, more friends have trickled into the mix to celebrate with them.But that's not the only change that happened over the years.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: best laid plans [lay them to rest] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745746
Comments: 54
Kudos: 57





	1. birthday celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Dimitri's birthday and Ingrid runs into Sylvain, both earlier and later than expected.

Ingrid sits in the darkness of her car as snow begins to accumulate on her windshield, silently taking in the grandeur of the home she used to frequent in her childhood.

The Blaiddyd mansion stood tall and imposing, only softened by the twinkling Christmas lights lining the roof (of which she’s sure Dedue had a hand in) and the festive wreaths on the lion statues out front. She exhales slowly, watching her frosted breath fade into the cold. _She’s here to celebrate Dimitri’s 20 th birthday, not sulk in her car. Whatever problems were going on at home… she can afford to set it aside for a few days. At least until their usual holiday traditions are over._

The last thing she wants is bringing her troubles to her best friends.

Ingrid sighs wearily, the thought of her family back at home weighing heavily in her chest. Their bills were stacking up and her scholarship and work-study could only cover so much. She'd opted not to return home this holiday break, to save her family the plane ticket back to Galatea. She’s in the middle of massaging a crick out of her neck when a sharp knock raps on her car window. She starts, her muscles tensing and her fists clenching, instincts on high alert. Her eyes dart to the figure standing outside her window.

A muffled voice reaches her through the glass. “Ingrid! It’s me!”

The tension leaves her body and she lets her head fall back against the car seat. His voice inadvertently grates and soothes her nerves simultaneously. Huffing, she swings her car door open and finds herself swept into a suffocating bear hug. “Sylvain!”

Despite her reprimanding tone, she finds she doesn’t mind. Doesn’t mind the way she’s being crushed to his chest and the way his warmth surrounds her completely. Her own arms wrap around him and she’s hugging him back, tighter than she thought she would. She buries her nose into the lapels of his coat and sinks a little bit deeper into the familiarity of honey, leather, and cinnamon.

 _She’s missed this._ She feels Sylvain press his cheek into her hair and squeeze her even closer. _She’s really missed this._

Ingrid’s just about to pull back and scold him for startling her, when his arms wind around her waist and suddenly, she’s airborne. She yelps and her hands grapple for his shoulders as Sylvain starts spinning them around like when they were kids, laughing into the winter winds without restraint.

“Sylvain! Put me down!” Her indignation entirely unconvincing, ruined by the laughter bubbling in her own throat as he spins them around for a third time.

“No way, Ing! One spin for every month I’ve spent away from you!”

Normally, she would’ve bat him off the moment he hoisted her up, but it’s been seven months since Sylvain graduated from college. A _long_ seven months since _anyone_ in their group of friends had seen him. His initial radio silence had worried her. He’d been whisked back to Gautier promptly after graduation, just barely hanging around long enough to say his goodbyes.

Then he was gone.

His text messages were brief, and they always came at odd hours of the night. His absence in their group chat was painstakingly apparent and Ingrid wondered if one of his exes had finally hunted him down. _She wasn’t there to back him up anymore, so what kind of trouble did he find himself in now?_ Her fingers itched to text him, but Felix’s completely unbothered attitude convinced her otherwise. _If Felix was unworried… then she should relax, right?_

It wasn’t until a week ago, when Faerghus began reporting on the successful completion of Phase I negotiations with Sreng, that they all received the same blurry picture of a redheaded blob on a TV screen captioned, ‘did you miss me?’. She doesn’t quite remember the barrage of texts that followed, but she remembers marking Dimitri’s birthday celebration with an extra note and heightened prioritization: _Sylvain’s back_.

And it was that note that led her here, spinning around in the snow with her best friend, instead of spending her holidays alone in her apartment away from her family for the first time.

After the seventh and last spin, Sylvain set her back down on her feet, toothy smile still plastered on his face, mirroring the one she’s sure is on her own. Her eyes take him in. _He’s somehow grown taller, his cheeks are a little more hollowed out, and…_ “You changed your hair.”

One of his hands shoots up and ruffles the back. _Nervous?_ “Oh, uh, yeah. The ‘fresh out of bed’ look just doesn’t make the cut for diplomatic roles.”

She scoffs, remembering the disaster that sat on top of his head for the last six years of his life. “Well, it looks nice.”

Suddenly, his hand is shoved onto her forehead and his face is _far_ closer than she’s used to. She blinks at him as he studies her worriedly. “Are you feeling okay, Ingrid? Did something happen in the seven months I was away? Did the cold finally get to you? Did you say, I looked… _nice?_ ”

Shaking him off from her, Ingrid elbows him away and goes back to her car to grab the gifts she brought for everyone, fond exasperation in her voice, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

He gives her the same smirk from high school that promised trouble. She pointedly ignores it and changes the subject. “Are you going to try that spinning stunt with Dimitri and Felix?”

The smirk deepens and his eyes light up with mischief. “Do you think they’ll let me?”

She rolls her eyes and shuts her car door. She gestures to the main entrance with her head and turns on her heel to start walking, hearing him fall into step behind her. “You know the answer to that.”

“I don’t know, Ingrid. You let me, didn’t you?”

His voice is teasing and she _knows_ it's a joke, but she freezes in her tracks and he bumps into her with a small _'oof'_. She’d been so caught up in seeing him again after seven months and how much she _missed_ him, she didn’t think twice about letting him grab her and spin… didn’t even think about how _good_ it felt to be wrapped in his arms and how he smelled like home—

Her heart skips once and the tips of her ears burn unpleasantly. Quickly pushing any further thoughts away for later, she squares her shoulders and shrugs. “Hm. I guess I did.”

Without another word, her hands shift on the gift boxes and she picks her pace back up. She smiles to herself, hearing the slight pause and then rapid crunching of snow close in beside her.

For the rest of the evening, she watches Sylvain attempt to spin Dimitri and Felix seven times each. Even Dedue, when he steps out of the kitchen with the birthday cake. Dimitri allowed the full seven rotations. Sylvain made it to five with Dedue before his arms gave out.

Felix tolerated one revolution and a half before he went flying across the dining room when Sylvain let him go per his request. He catches her eye and throws an obnoxious wink in her direction before Felix tackles him to the ground in a choke-hold, shouting obscenities as Sylvain relentlessly teases him, even with an arm around his neck.

Ingrid can’t remember the last time she laughed so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my fitbit told me my heart rate went to 38 yesterday around midnight. i was confused bc i thought i was sleeping and it's never gone that low.
> 
> ...then i realized i was still awake doing homework.
> 
> when sleep is more stimulating that coursework... it's time to post some sylvgrid.
> 
> this mini-series takes place 3 years after 'graduation plans', when the remaining trio are in their 3rd year of college and Sylvain a fresh graduate, and 2-3 years before 'cotton & gauze'. no need to read the others, as my writing style strays toward 1k words of present tense littered with introspective recollections than writing an event from start to finish... :').
> 
> my brain and fingers apparently have no patience for that so instead we have this. I spent a lot of time camping in Sylvain's brain, it was time to hike over to Ingrid's, so I can give her the love she deserves.


	2. eve of change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is almost upon them and there's so much to do: there are more lights to hang, guest rooms to prepare, a tree to decorate, cookies and gingerbread to bake...
> 
> and a lot to talk about.
> 
> so much to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The worst part about being lied to is knowing you weren't worth the truth."  
> \- Jean Paul Sartre

The next few days blur together and suddenly, it’s Christmas Eve.

The rest of their friends from the Blue Lions dormitory back in first year would be arriving at Dimitri’s shortly for their Christmas party, along with a few stragglers from the Golden Deer and Black Eagles. There were so many preparations to help with, so many things she knew even Dedue would not turn away assistance for…

Yet, Ingrid couldn’t summon the energy to get out of bed.

She is decidedly awake, after years of conditioning her body to rise at six in the morning without fail, but she stays huddled in the warmth of her blankets, staring listlessly at the ceiling. She usually finds mornings peaceful, the calmness and quietness that came with the rising sun setting her mood for the day. But now, her fingers tighten around the pillow she unconsciously pulled to her in her sleep, unable to silence the buzzing in her head after several fitful nights of unrest.

While she’d been successful in pushing any intrusive thoughts away the night Sylvain returned to them from overseas, they’d always push their way back to the forefront of her mind when she was safely tucked away in her room. Alone.

The scent of cinnamon, honey, and leather, the solid weight of Sylvain’s arms wrapping around her, how she pressed her nose into his chest…

Ingrid groans and rolls over onto her stomach, kicking her feet in frustration underneath her covers. She’d never been very good at processing or reflecting on her feelings. The _last_ time she did that… she hadn’t left her room for days. It felt far more catatonic than processing, all things considered.

And it wasn’t even until Sylvain, _Sylvain¸_ coaxed her out of her room. He’d sat outside her door when she ignored him. First, in silence. Then, low chatter, about the meals the she was missing out on, leaving her a plate outside before he left for the evening. Lastly, about _everything_. Updates on school, social gatherings… even how he’d stopped flirting with girls.

At that last one, Ingrid had swung her door open and Sylvain tumbled backward at her feet. Hair knotted and eyes narrowed, she studied his _completely_ unabashed face smiling up at her. “I don’t believe that for _one second_.”

To his credit, Sylvain just smiled wider at her scratchy voice and made no move to get up from the floor. “There’s our princess.”

Brow wrinkling from his words, she looked up from her best friend’s face and saw her brothers huddled on the floor with him, dinner half-eaten on their plates, before she was ambushed in a sea of arms and cries of her name.

…and she felt a lot like crying herself.

By the time she cleared out her brothers and ushered them back to the kitchen with their plates, Sylvain had taken to leaning on the wall across the hall, small smile playing on his lips as he watched her straighten out her wrinkly t-shirt and shorts, some embarrassment catching up to her after registering how many days had truly passed.

When she finally met his gaze, he pushed off the wall and folded her into a hug so tight, she felt like crying all over again. Her arms shakily wrapped around his back and he whispered, “Are you going to be okay?”

Thoughts of Glenn flickered behind her eyes and she buried her head into Sylvain’s shoulder, nodding into the soft cotton of his shirt. “Yeah… I’ll be okay.”

Then, things went back to normal. Sylvain, fooling around, not a care in the world. Her, cleaning up his messes, wishing he would care more. Always her, always for him. No matter how many times she scolded him, or threatened him to do better, she still found herself trailing after him.

Every time.

Because he’s done the same for her, when it mattered. And despite the trouble he sticks his nose into and puts up the false pretense of acting stupid, Ingrid knows he’d drop it all to help her. Help any single one of them.

 _Then_ , he was gone for seven months, and Ingrid _still_ can’t figure out why she feels so unsettled about it. Their friendship is as it ever was, and all those months between them hadn’t changed that.

_Right?_

Groaning one last time, Ingrid flings the blanket off and swings her legs off the bed, heading toward the bathroom. There were lights to hang, cookies to bake, and a tree to decorate. Lying in bed isn’t going to solve anything, so she might as well start her day.

_As for Sylvain…_

They still have a lot to catch up on, and they all still had to grill him for not telling _any_ of them that he was going to Sreng with his father. _And maybe that was it_. He left without telling anyone, and then came back seven months later, as if nothing changed at all.

Ingrid frowns in the mirror, annoyance tingling at the tips of her fingers. _Maybe nothing will change between all of them no matter how much time passes, but it still would’ve been nice to_ know.

Sighing, she exits her room and perks up at the smell of eggs and bacon. She follows her nose to the kitchen, smiling at the sight of a stack of waffles, a plate full of scrambled eggs, and bacon sizzling in the pan.

She chirps a quick _‘good morning’_ to Dimitri and Felix sitting in the kitchen, and an extra loud ‘ _good morning and thank you’_ to Dedue who still stood by the stove. She piles her plate sky-high with food and begins to eat, pointedly ignoring Felix’s amused scoff and Dimitri’s lighthearted chuckle. Dedue joins them shortly with another plate of bacon and slides a cup of coffee to her. She smiles her thanks, blowing the steam away before sipping carefully, staring idly at the fresh snow that had fallen over night. Sylvain is notably absent from the table, most likely sleeping off the remaining jet-lag from his trip back to Fódlan and annoyance bubbles in her chest again.

She sets her coffee down. “Does anyone know why Sylvain opted not to tell us about his trip to Sreng?”

Receiving only silence, Ingrid turns her gaze back to the three boys in the kitchen, all of them with confusion on their faces. An uneasiness creeps into her mind and the pit of her stomach starts to burn. “What? Did you all know?”

The look on Dimitri’s face changes and Dedue doesn’t meet her eyes. She feels her throat tighten. She turns to stare hard at Felix, and he stares right back. “Felix? Did _you_ know?”

Ingrid thinks back to how unworried every single one of them was during the seven months, and she feels the burning in her stomach spread to her chest the longer they stayed quiet. Her knuckles are white from clutching her mug when Felix finally breaks the silence. “I told him to tell you. When you didn’t say or ask anything in the last seven months, I assumed he did before he left.”

Ingrid pushes back from the table abruptly and storms out of the kitchen, shouldering a groggy Sylvain out of the way without pause. Completely bewildered, Sylvain stumbles into the kitchen and sits in Ingrid’s empty seat, yawning widely into his hand. “What’d you do Felix, spit in her coffee or something?”

Dimitri pinches the bridge of nose and Dedue busies himself with wrapping Ingrid’s unfinished breakfast to store in the fridge. Felix bristles and shoves his best friend roughly, hissing, “not _me_ , idiot. _You._ I’m not covering you for this one.” Felix whips out of his chair and disappears down the hallway after Ingrid.

Still blinking the sleep from his eyes, Sylvain looks across the table at Dimitri, who sighed heavily. “She knows about Sreng, Sylvain.”

“What do you mean? Of course she does, I sent the picture to all of you.”

Dimitri removes his hand from his face and looks at his friend tiredly. “She knows you didn’t tell her.”

Dedue shuts the fridge with a _thud_ and Sylvain feels his heart stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which i receive disheartening news about my clinical education but still hope for the best.
> 
> all that emotion translated into finishing the last chapter of this mini-series that i can't wait to share :). 3.5/5 chapters done, 1.5 more to go.
> 
> communication skills are key, but they don't always come easy.


	3. christmas miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two of the worst communicators, who prefer to keep their troubles hidden, finally talk it out.
> 
> ...or fight it out.

Ingrid almost feels like laughing, sitting in the darkness of her room, curtains drawn, back against the door.

At first, anger boiled through her as she left the kitchen, purposely shoving past Sylvain as she raced back to her room. It is only until the door was finally shut behind her did the anger leave her.

Now, she’s completely drained, all the fight gone, replaced by a gaping cavity in her chest that she doesn’t even know how to begin to fill.

_Is she really that worthless?_

She hears a pair of footsteps stop outside her door and maybe she _does_ still have a little bit of anger left. She spits out, “I have nothing to say to you, leave me alone.”

A weight settles against the other side of the door and pushes back against her. “It’s me.”

Felix’s voice surprises her, but it does nothing to resolve the tightness in her throat, when she remembers the way he looked at her across the table. Sighing, she lets her head fall to her knees, her arms pulling them in even closer. “What do you want, Felix?”

She can almost imagine the shrug as she hears him shift on the floor. “You know I’m not one for talking.”

Ingrid snorts quietly. “I do know. So why are you here?”

Felix doesn’t reply and Ingrid doesn’t press him further. They sit there against the door, the distant sounds coming from the kitchen falling between them. Then, she hears Felix grunt as he stands up, the weight at her back now gone. The loss deepens the ache in her chest, and she waits for his footsteps to inevitably walk away from her too.

Instead, she hears him say, “You’re right to be upset with him. I would be too, and I _am_.” He pauses and Ingrid holds her breath. Felix’s voice turns softer than she’s ever heard it when he continues. “Just give him the chance to explain.”

Then, she hears his footsteps leave with a disgruntled mutter, “whenever he stops being an idiot, that is.”

She huffs out a laugh and closes her eyes, feeling just a little bit lighter than she did before. She’s not sure how long her eyes have been closed, but she opens them again at another soft knock. “Ingrid? It’s Dimitri.”

She’s not sure she has the energy to respond. He continues anyway. “I… I know you might not want to talk, and that’s fine. We respect your need for space…” He trails off and Ingrid almost smiles at how awkward her dear friend is.

“I don’t mean to sound insensitive with my next question, but Dedue insisted that we clarify…”

Ingrid furrows her brow in confusion. _What?_ “We wanted to bake you some extra cookies, for you to take home with you, since we cannot… celebrate like we usually do.”

Her heart simultaneously swells and deflates at the thought. Slowly getting to her feet, Ingrid cracks open the door, just enough to catch sight of her friend’s worried blue eyes. She smiles weakly. “The cinnamon sugar ones are fine.”

He nods dutifully but hesitates to leave. “Ingrid—”

“I’ll be okay, Dimitri. It’s not your fault. Just… give me a little bit more time.”

Dimitri nods again, more slowly this time. He turns to leave, but not without shooting her one last look of concern, until he hurries off to the kitchen to relay her message. Ingrid shuts the door behind her and slumps down once again, her thoughts wandering toward her family.

Her father’s condition had declined sharply with the winter season, and her brothers had messaged her that all current funds were going toward the hospital bills. They didn’t mention anything further, so Ingrid had brought it upon herself to bring it up. _We don’t need to celebrate my birthday this year,_ she’d drafted, _it’ll save the money for a plane ticket and then some for the medications and hospital stay._

Her brothers had hurriedly texted back, how she shouldn’t be alone on her birthday, but Ingrid knew what was best. Burying the ache, she sealed her decision. _It’s okay, I’ll be with my friends for the weeks beforehand. I’ll be okay._

Moments later, her oldest brother sent her a separate message and her hands shook. _It’s okay to not be okay, Ingrid. We’re here for you, don’t shut us out again, all right?_

She grimaces and gets to her feet. She throws back her blankets and huffs as she slides into bed again, hoping if she falls asleep, maybe she wouldn’t _feel_ so much.

* * *

Sylvain is exhausted, and yet somehow, restless. His leg bounces relentlessly on the barstool in the kitchen as he and Dedue wait for Dimitri to return. Felix hadn’t come back after his outburst, and honestly, Sylvain doesn’t blame him.

He wouldn’t come back either, knowing what he did.

He’d tossed and turn for a week straight before he left, debating if he should tell Ingrid or not. He texted Felix immediately when he got the news, that he was getting shipped out with his father, a _trial for ambassador work_ , he’d said, so someone would know where he went. If he didn’t come back if things went south.

He’d even texted Dimitri and Dedue, for tips on how to conduct himself, because he sure didn’t pay any attention to that in high school or college, as they so graciously reminded him every day.

His fingers had hovered over his phone, over Ingrid’s name, frozen. Unable to type out the message he _knew_ he should’ve sent. Even if it was short. A formality.

But he still didn’t do it. The thought of her locked in her room, refusing to come out, because she lost someone she loved… He couldn’t do that to her. Maybe it would be better for her to not know he was leaving at all, then she wouldn’t even know he was gone in the first place. Wouldn’t even know to miss him.

And with that thought in his head, he was on the plane, sitting stiffly next to his father, as they crossed the border into Sreng.

He tried to keep in touch, but he knew it wasn’t enough. He didn’t have as much time, in between all of his reading and catching up with foreign relations and policies. When he finally _did_ have free time, he knew the time difference was awful.

So, he kept his messages short.

Then, it was over. His father had successfully placed a deal with the leaders of Sreng and he would be flying back tomorrow. He barely registered the flashing cameras in his face as he walked, back tall, behind his father. He caught the rerun on TV at dinner, snapped a quick picture, and sent it to their entire group chat, relieved it was finally over. That night, he went out into the marketplace with some of his father’s bodyguards, searching for gifts, because he certainly didn’t have the time when he landed.

His eyes caught on to some cooking spices for Dedue, some history books for Ashe and Annette, embroidery for Mercedes, locally sourced cheese for Dimitri, and ornamental sheath for Felix—

A glint of green catches his eye in the stall next to where he bought Felix’s gift, and he suddenly misses home _terribly._ He buys it for Ingrid before he second-guesses himself and trudges back to the hotel to sleep.

Then he wakes to a pile of texts in the morning. He doesn’t remember the exact messages, but he does remember his heart dropping into his stomach when one of Ingrid’s popped in. _‘That’s where you were? I missed you.’_

The food in his mouth suddenly felt like sand and he realized exactly how stupid he was. The gift for Ingrid weighed heavily in his pocket on his way home. Then after that long, stifling flight, he took a direct transfer to Fhirdiad and as soon as he stepped foot on the Blaiddyd estate, he saw her sitting in her car.

Seven months away from her, away from all of his friends… he couldn’t hold back his excitement.

And he was surprised. _Surprised_ she let him sweep her into a bear hug and spin her around like they were kids and he would hoist her up onto his shoulders so she could pick the best apples for all of them. Surprised that she’d let him do all of that when he didn’t tell her he was leaving.

But he swallowed his guilt and resolved to come clean to her. After all the celebrations were over and there was time to breathe.

Turns out, his best friend _always_ knows when he screws up. 

So, he’s not surprised, when Dimitri returns alone, shaking his head. His leg stops bouncing. “She said cinnamon sugar, right?”

Dimitri gives him this pitying look and he barely keeps the frown from forming on his face. “Yes, she did.”

Silence falls over them as Dedue moves to the pantry to gather the ingredients. Dimitri clears his throat. “Sylvain, you should—”

He couldn’t mask the bitterness in his voice in time when he snaps back, “I know. I’ll talk to her. Let her cool down first though, I’d prefer not to walk into another warzone after just getting back from one.”

He deflates immediately. Feeling guilty, he sighs and covers his face with his hands, elbows resting on the table. “Sorry. I’m just… exhausted.”

Dimitri sits down next to him, hand on his shoulder, but saying nothing else. Sylvain thinks back to Ingrid’s car and he grimaces. _He hopes he’s wrong about it… but just in case._ “Hey, Dedue, after the cookies… what was that recipe for cake with fresh berries?”

* * *

Ingrid wakes with her joints stiff, stomach growling, and _definitely_ not feeling any better than when she fell asleep. _She never finished breakfast_. She debates if it’s worth venturing into the kitchen if it meant potentially seeing Sylvain when she’s still _angry_ , and then her stomach growls again, deciding for her. Grimacing, she climbs out of bed and makes her way to the door, stopping short when she notices a weight leaning against it from the other side.

Her chest tightens and fire burns in her again. She swings her door open and Sylvain tumbles onto his back at her feet. No smile on his face this time.

Instead, it’s blank, _his mask_ , and Ingrid feels the fire burn hotter.

He makes no move to get up and she’s in no mood to entertain him. She turns on her heel and opts to stare out the window instead, biting out, “close the door behind you.”

Surprisingly, the door clicks shortly after and she whips around, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t mean come in.”

To his credit, Sylvain doesn’t flinch, and his face doesn’t change. It makes her angrier that she’s the only one reacting. “Why are you here?”

He stares right at her, posture betraying nothing. “You know why.”

She raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t continue. He inhales deeply and sighs, gesturing for her to sit.

She doesn’t.

Indifferent, Sylvain leans against her door and crosses his arms. “I meant to tell you.”

She scoffs, “yet, here we are.”

He snorts and agrees tiredly as his eyes slide shut. “Yet, here we are.”

Ingrid hates how calm he is. “Some apology this is. Have I cleaned up too many of your messes for you to not know how to do it properly anymore?”

His eyes snap open and she gets a glare back. _Good_. “Look, Ingrid. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you, and I didn’t. That was wrong of me.”

She frowns. “You’re still not going to tell me why?”

“I was _going_ to once we were done with all of…” he waves his hand around dismissively. “All of this. Then you found out early.”

Anger strikes her to her core, settling deep into her stomach. She snaps, “I found out _early?_ Tell me, Sylvain, how is finding out _seven_ months _after_ the fact, finding out _early_?”

His brow furrows and his mouth flattens into a thin line. “You know that’s not what I meant—”

She doesn’t let him finish. “And _why is it_ , that now that I’ve found out, that I’m worth telling? But not _before_ you left? You could’ve died out there if things went wrong!”

That, apparently, touches the nerve she didn’t know she was looking for.

Sylvain pushes of the wall, his arms flying outward, voice rising. “Ingrid, I’m sorry! I didn’t want to tell you I was leaving and then on the off-chance, _not_ come back. Knowing me and my reputation? Those chances were pretty high. So, I wasn’t going to put you through that again—”

“There you go again, making light of getting hurt! Glenn did that too and now he’s gone! I never got to say goodbye to him, Sylvain!”

He’s stunned into silence at her outburst and she feels tears leak out of the corners of her eyes. Her breathing is ragged, but she can hardly bring herself to care when all of those feelings she associated with _Glenn_ , the ones she thought she buried, come back to haunt her. Her energy drains out of her and her knees buckle as she falls backward onto her bed. She throws an arm over her eyes and repeats herself, voice barely a whisper. “I never got to say goodbye.”

She hears Sylvain’s clothes rustle as he moves to sit on the floor, his head falling back against the door with a soft _thump_. More words spill from her mouth. “The day before Glenn left… the day before he _died_ … he told me had something to tell me, but it could wait until he came back.”

Sylvain remains silent and Ingrid removes the arm over her face to look at him. His eyes are trained on the ceiling, his fingers white from clenching each other. And Ingrid gets this sudden, _twisted_ , urge, to hurt him. _To make him understand._

Her throat burns painfully as she forces more words out. “He said it could wait until he came back, and all he said was, _‘talk to you soon’_ , and I only replied, _’okay’_. He never came back, and I never got to hear what he was going to say—”

“He was going to say, _‘I love you’_.”

Ingrid whips her head to Sylvain and he’s finally looking at her, his eyes tired. Apologetic. _Hurt._ That dark little part of her quiets down and she whispers, “how do you know?”

His eyes don’t stray away, despite the tightening of his jaw. “He told me.”

At that, Ingrid stares at him in disbelief and he continues, “it wasn’t exactly something he was going to tell his kid brother or the other kid who’s basically like his little brother. He wanted to get it off his chest, so he told me, the other kid he basically adopted to be a brother but wouldn’t flake at the mention of _girls_.”

Suddenly, she feels like laughing again. And maybe she is, with the sudden look of concern that crosses Sylvain’s face. _He told him._ Her eyes turn sharp when they glare at him, a dry smile finding its way onto her face. “He told _you._ ”

Sylvain is back to being mute and Ingrid can’t help the empty laugh that comes out of her as she looks away from him, more tears skewing her vision as more memories flood her mind. “Don’t you see how painful it is, Sylvain? To hear the words you _want_ to hear, but _not_ from the person you want to hear them from?”

He remains resolutely quiet, and she turns her head toward him once again. His shoulders are stiff and he’s staring holes into the carpet. Ingrid’s not even sure that he’s breathing. Then, softly, “I’m sorry, Ingrid.”

The tight coil in her stomach loosens, _just a bit_ , as she tries to find her voice again. “Promise me, Sylvain.”

His eyes shift up to hers, dull and glassy, and the ache in her chest worsens, knowing she caused it. _Wanted_ to cause it. She gulps and holds his gaze. “Promise me that you’ll take your safety seriously and that you’ll talk to me. _Tell_ me where you’re going, _especially_ if you don’t think you’re coming back. I want… I _need_ to be able to say what I need to say. Including goodbyes.”

He sighs, shoulders dropping as his head knocks back against the wall again. “You have so much on your plate already, Ingrid… who am I to add more troubles?”

She sits up. “You’re my best friend, Sylvain. I _want_ to hear these troubles from you.”

His eyes find hers, exhausted. “How do you even bear it, Ing? That weight on your shoulders.”

Ingrid slips out of bed and finds herself walking toward him, sliding down on the floor next to him. “I bear it because I have to.”

“You don’t have to bear it for me.”

Her fingers twist together in her lap. “I can bear it… because it means they trust me enough to share it with me. If I’m not even worth the trust…” she trails off before looking at him. “Then what am I worth?”

His face breaks in front of her. “Ingrid, that’s not what I—”

“I know, I know it’s not what you meant. It’s a bit naïve of me to think like this, but I can’t help but feel that way whenever you don’t tell me something important. Like you don’t need me anymore.”

His hand covers hers. “I’m always going to need you, Ingrid.” She looks at how much smaller her hand is in his. _Had it always been like that?_ “But you also have to promise me something too.”

She looks up. His eyes serious. “You have to share your troubles with me too. I know you’ve been keeping a lot of these things to yourself, because you can bear it, but Ingrid… you don’t _have_ to bear it alone, okay? I’ve got your back. Always. Don’t shut me out.”

Tears prick her eyes again, as she feels Sylvain’s hand leave her. Then, one of his arms settles around her shoulders, pulling her in until she’s tucked under his chin. Her breath shakes unevenly as he presses his cheek to her hair, voice low. “How’s your father?”

And Ingrid lets her tears go.

* * *

Ingrid wakes to a darkened room with a sore neck and aching back. She’s still tucked against Sylvain as he dozes lightly, head resting on top of hers, arm still slung over her shoulders. If she listens carefully, she can hear Annette, Mercedes, and Ashe in the kitchen, humming along to Christmas tunes.

She thinks she can even hear Felix teasing Annette, and Annette firing retorts right back.

“Are you awake?”

Sylvain shifts above her and she finds him blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes, yawning wide. Ingrid leans away from him as he spreads his arms out to stretch, rolling his neck. She nods in the darkness and stretches out her own limbs. “We should probably head out, see what else needs to be done for tomorrow.”

Her stomach growls again, having missed half of breakfast _and_ lunch. She thinks she sees Sylvain smirk at her. “And see what we can salvage for dinner.”

She pushes at his shoulder, smiling herself. “Shut up. Crying burns a lot of calories.”

Ingrid moves to stand, but Sylvain catches her hand, keeping her there. She raises an eyebrow before realizing he probably couldn’t see it. “What?”

He tugs her back down and puts his hands on her shoulders, bringing his face close to hers. “You’d tell me if something was bothering you, right? Like we promised?”

A lump forms in her throat. “Yeah. Of course.”

His eyes search hers. She’s not sure what he finds, but his hands slide off her shoulder and into his pocket, pulling out a small white box. He hands it to her. Uncertainly, she takes it. “Sylvain? What is this?”

His hands withdraw from her completely, and instead, fly up to the back of his neck. “Your Christmas gift. It’s almost midnight anyway, so I figure I’d give it to you now. It’s a little too small to put underneath a tree.”

She opens the box and a small, jade tear-drop pendant winks back at her. Her throat feels oddly tight. “Sylvain—”

“I know you don’t usually wear jewelry or anything, but I was out shopping for gifts and I just… I saw it and I don’t know—the color reminded me of home. Reminded me of you.”

Her lips quirk up as her heart pounds in her chest. “Reminded you of me, but didn’t remind you to _tell_ me where you were—?”

“I said I was sorry! I promise to tell you next time. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Ingrid laughs and leans against his shoulder. “Thank you, Sylvain. I love it.”

“Wow, our own Christmas miracle. First, you tell me I look nice, now that you love my present, and us, two of the worst communicators making up—”

Ingrid pushes him away, laughing. She pulls him up from the floor and they make their way to the kitchens where the rest of their friends are. They all shower them with hugs and greetings, while her heart still beats a little funny with Sylvain’s gift in her pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was recounting some of my years in high school and college with a close friend, particularly our relationships. the next morning, I woke up half an hour before my alarm and started my 7 hour writing marathon that ended up with me completing the very last installment of this entire series, and this chapter of this mini-series.
> 
> I didn't intend to finish it today, but then I was writing and writing... and writing and writing and I couldn't stop.
> 
> i'll have one more chapter left in this mini, and then this series is over (?)! all of these fics so far have been a pre-relationship sylvgrid in this modern au and I do have a few files of post-relationship sylvgrid in the same au. I'm not sure if I'll post them in the same series, but we'll see.
> 
> Once the next chapter is finished, I'll have to take a break from writing and shift all the brain power to applications (a much less satisfying word count).
> 
> but until then... :).


	4. new year's celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> on the brink of the New Year, Ingrid recounts the friendships she's made and the ones maintained.
> 
> during the actual countdown, she thinks of something else.

It is about five o’clock in the evening on New Year’s Eve, but that didn’t stop Sylvain from bringing out the alcohol and board games. Currently, there’s a rather large gathering around the dining table to watch, _apparently_ , the most intense game of Monopoly to date. Hilda and Marianne stand behind Claude, looking over his shoulder and counting the amount of properties he owned. Meanwhile, Annette is pulling on Felix’s arm as she _verbally_ counts out loud how many properties and railroads _Sylvain_ owns as he casually waves off her concerns, gesturing for Petra to roll the dice, Ashe sitting to her right explaining the rules. Once she does, the sounds of simultaneous glee and frustrated groans erupt immediately after, several hands reaching for their drinks, grumbling as they took more shots.

Ingrid snorts into her drink as she watches Sylvain and Claude exchange high-fives across the table, while Petra holds up a handful of rainbow paper in confusion with Ashe frantically trying to explain the different values of money.

She mutters to herself, “those two should never be allowed to play boardgames together…”

She’s just about to take another sip when a warm arm wraps around her waist and a teasing voice singsongs into her ear, “Ooh, Ingie! Scoping out which boy you’d like to smooch tonight?”

Ingrid chokes and almost spits out her drink.

Thankfully, Dorothea waves off any worried glances sent their way with a wink, patting Ingrid’s back not-so apologetically as she tries to catch her breath.

Face red and still coughing, Ingrid glares at the innocent smile on her friend’s face. “That is _not_ what I’m doing.”

Dorothea sighs dramatically and slides into the stool next to her, resting her elbows on the countertop. “Pity. I’m sure one of them would’ve enjoyed that.”

Despite not drinking anything, Ingrid almost chokes again. Her mind briefly flashes to the jade pendant in her room before she violently pushes the thought away, hoping, _praying_ , the sudden heat on her cheeks is passable for alcohol. She whips her head over to friend, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean by that?”

The mock-forlorn expression on Dorothea’s face melts into one of mischief. “Oh, Ingie. I’m not one to spill other people’s secrets.” She wiggles her fingers at her, the blue gemstone of her ring sparkling under the kitchen lights. Dorothea winks again. “Besides, you know I’d much rather keep you to myself.”

Ingrid sighs, exasperated, but smiles anyway. She sips at her drink carefully, _not_ wanting a repeat performance of earlier. “Well, _all of that aside,_ I’m glad you like the ring enough to wear it often. I’m not very good at picking out jewelry… but I really wanted to thank you. You saved me from a huge headache.”

Just _thinking_ about that disastrous blind date from last year makes her nauseous. At her father’s request, she’d agreed to meet with a potential business partner, interested in bailing out her father’s company and taking over production costs. These requests had steadily streamed in after… Glenn’s accident, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, nor anything she couldn’t handle on her own.

So, she went to the meeting alone.

It’d been some distance away from Garreg Mach, closer to Mittelfrank Opera House, and a corner of her mind began sending her warning signals. She stood across the street from the appointed address, and she just couldn’t shake the feeling that _something_ was wrong. Then, a slim arm looped around hers and _tugged_ , a sweet voice gasping, _loud_ and _abrasive_ , “Oh, _Ingrid_! This is where you were? You should’ve told me you got lost! I would’ve escorted you myself!”

And suddenly, she and this mystery brunette were flying down the street and she was thrust through the doors of the opera house. Ingrid was still busy trying to catch her breath and figure out _how_ this girl knew her name and _why_ that gut feeling of hers disappeared.

The doors slammed shut and Ingrid flinched. She looked up, the other girl dusting off her clothes and rearranging her skirt. _She looked vaguely familiar…_ Before she could voice her thoughts, the other girl made eye contact and smiled. “Well, Ingie, I’d say we dodged a huge bullet there. Perhaps, literally.”

Several thoughts ran through Ingrid’s mind, but the first one that came out was, “Ingie?”

She received a coy smile in response. “Ingrid Galatea, right? Sylvain’s friend?”

Ingrid’s head swirled even more. “How do you know Sylvain? Wait, don’t answer that—”

At that, the other girl threw her head back and laughed, so freely, that Ingrid wondered what she’d said. She watched as the other gleefully wiped tears from her eyes, smile wide on her face. “Oh, Ingrid. Sylvain is cute, but…” she winks, and Ingrid feels herself flush. “He’s not my type.”

Seeing her confusion, the other girl’s playful smile turned gentle. “In all seriousness, we worked part-time jobs together. He comes to the opera house now and then to help out and relax. He talks about you all the time.”

After a few more moments of silence, Ingrid finally forced out the questions she meant to ask. “Who are you? And why did you bring me here?”

A mixed expression flashed over her face, but it’s not there long enough for Ingrid to recognize. “I’m Dorothea Arnault. I’m actually in the year above you, which is probably why you haven’t seen me around before… and as a Blue Lions’ kid, I doubt you’ve been around the Black Eagles dorms very often. As for bringing you here…”

Ingrid felt a sudden chill as Dorothea’s eyes turned hard. “Let’s just say that scumbag businessman you were going to meet? The only thing he has to his name is blood money.”

She freezes. “What?”

Dorothea scowled and crossed her arms. “He’s a frequent visitor to the opera house, donating this or that. Our company looked him up and we’ve banned him for life.”

“How did you know where I was going?”

Dorothea sighed heavily. “The opera house may have banned him, but we don’t have the power to remove someone from the city. That building you were going to? That’s his base of operations. He’s got this whole region wrapped around his pinky with blackmail.”

Ingrid shifted uncomfortably, dread settling in her stomach with this new information. _She was going to have to write her father back._ Another thought popped into her head. “I might be Sylvain’s friend, but you’ve never met me before. How did you know it was me?”

Dorothea laughed again, shaking her head. “Ingie, Sylvain paints a _very_ vivid picture of the best friend who cleans up after him.”

Ingrid couldn’t help but scoff and roll her eyes, muttering, “Sylvain…”

Dorothea walked to her side and held out her hand. “As insufferable as he is, he does care. He’d cover my shifts so I could come back here to perform. So… any friend of his, is a friend of mine.”

Ingrid felt the corner of her mouth lift and took the proffered hand. “He does have his redeeming qualities, doesn’t he?”

Dorothea laughed again and linked their arms together. “That he does. Speaking of performances, we have one in a few hours. How would you like to stay and help? As a _thank you_ to your lovely savior?”

Ingrid flustered. “Well, I’m not much of a performer—”

“Then how about you stay and watch? I’ll even give you a make-over, free of charge.”

“I thought you said this was _my_ ‘thank you’ to you?”

Dorothea winked and bowed dramatically, and Ingrid realized exactly why Sylvain and Dorothea were friends. “And it would be such a _gift_ to dress you, Miss Galatea.”

Ingrid wasn’t able to get many other words in edgewise, as Dorothea pushed her to the dressing rooms and threw her a slew of dresses to try on. A few weeks later, Ingrid nervously entered the Black Eagles dormitory for the first time and handed off a little black box to Dorothea. “I know this isn’t much and I’m not the best at picking gifts—”

She was promptly pounced upon after her new friend saw the glittering blue gemstone set in a simple band. She received an exaggerated, wet kiss on her cheek. “Oh, _Ingie_! You shouldn’t have!”

Ingrid laughed as Dorothea’s hold on her grew tighter. “You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t have, if it’s going to give you the wrong ideas.”

Dorothea pulled back and smiled innocently. “Me? _Never._ ”

Ever since then, she and Dorothea had met up regularly. She would always run by her father’s requests with her and they would go on the occasional shopping trips where Dorothea urged her to try on _far_ too many clothes out of her comfort zone.

But even then, Ingrid appreciates it. Having grown up with brothers and having _three_ additional headaches to monitor in the form of her childhood friends… it’s nice to be taken care of for the things she never cared about before.

Then, Dorothea reaches over and swipes her drink, finishing it off in one go, breaking her out of her reverie. Ingrid raises her eyebrows, growing apprehensive. _Dorothea only ever pulls a stunt like that when she’s ready to talk her into something she will wholeheartedly not agree with._ “…What are you plotting now, Thea?”

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Dorothea grins. “How about a little make-over?”

* * *

Four hours later, Ingrid now sits in her bathroom, fidgeting in a gauzy mint dress, as Dorothea adds another layer of eyeshadow. “Dorothea… is all of this really necessary?”

“Ingrid! Tonight’s a special occasion! Didn’t you say you would dress up for special occasions?”

She wrinkles her nose as Dorothea brushes over it with blush. “I’ve celebrated New Year’s with everyone before and I’ve never dressed up.”

Dorothea sighs and sets down her brushes with a clatter, and Ingrid takes this as her cue to open her eyes. She’s slightly taken aback at her reflection, silver shimmering on her eyelids, cheeks rosy, lips glossed… She gulps. “Dorothea… what are you getting at with all of this?”

Her friend sighs again and sets her hands on her shoulders, resting her chin on top of Ingrid’s head. “Ingrid, were you _really_ not scoping out a boy to smooch tonight?”

She splutters, “W-what? No! What does that have to do with anything?”

“ _Well_ , some of Fódlan folklore says the first person you meet on New Year’s and how you meet them, determines the rest of your year. And a _kiss_ is for strengthening ties you want to maintain in the future.”

Ingrid’s face is impossibly hot and she wonders how strong the alcohol Sylvain bought really was… “W-what’s your point?”

“Not thinking about Claude or Sylvain?”

The heat in her face instantaneously spreads to the rest of her body and she physically bats away a laughing Dorothea. “No! Dorothea, why would you say that?”

Her friend shrugs, sly smile on her face. “No particular reason, just curious. You seemed so amused looking in their direction. I just wanted to know _which_ of the two you were looking at.”

Ingrid stares at her friend in mortification, but only receives a wink in response. “Or maybe… both?”

Ingrid shoots up from her stool and covers her face, only to have her hands wrenched away. “Your make-up, Ingrid! Don’t smudge it!”

“ _Dorothea!_ ”

Taking pity, Dorothea sighs and sits Ingrid back down, gently smoothing down her hair. “Relax, Ingie. I’m only teasing… mostly.”

Still burning in embarrassment, Ingrid mutters, “I was looking at them because I was thinking how they should never be allowed to play boardgames together… They’re going to drink everyone under the table at this rate.”

Dorothea snorts and begins to rifle through Ingrid’s jewelry collection. Her eyes land a new white box and she opens it. “Ingrid, when did you get this pendant?”

Ingrid’s eyes dart to the piece in question. “Oh. Sylvain bought that in Sreng for me as my Christmas present.”

Dorothea hums noncommittedly as she fishes out a delicate silver chain from her own jewelry box. She threads it through the pendant and places it around Ingrid’s neck, fastening the clasp.

Ingrid’s eyes widen. “Thea, isn’t this your chain—?”

“Hmm, think of it as a gift. You gave me a ring, and I’ll give you a necklace chain.”

Ingrid’s fingers hover over the jade pendant and Dorothea smiles at her in the mirror. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

_Reminded me of you._

For the third time today, Ingrid feels herself flush.

* * *

Ingrid is two drinks into the night when she finally finds Sylvain leaning against the far wall of the living room, nursing a near empty cup with a similarly empty expression on his face. She joins him, shoulders brushing, only slightly worried when he didn’t so much as look in her direction. She purses her lips. “What, lose all that hard-earned money from Monopoly today?”

Sylvain blinks and his eyes adjust to her. He’s silent for a few more moments, studying her. Then, he laughs and shakes his head. “Well, you know Claude.”

She knocks his elbow with hers. “I also know _you._ ”

He snorts. “That you do.” Then, “is that the necklace?”

Her stomach lurches suddenly and she forces herself to nod. “Yeah, it is. Dorothea gave me the chain for it.”

Sylvain is silent again, before the corner of his lips curl up. “It’s pretty. You look nice, Ingrid.”

He looks away from her and she’s _thankful_. There’s a blush burning on her cheeks yet again, and another that starts in the center of her chest. She swallows hard, their conversation on Christmas Eve pushing to the forefront of her mind. Of the words she didn’t say out loud. “Hey, Sylvain?”

“Hm?” His head rolls toward her, lazy smile on his face. The countdown to the New Year fades into the background and Ingrid never realized how golden his eyes could get. She drops her head to his shoulder abruptly, heat shooting down her spine. _She’s_ definitely _had one too many drinks._

“Ing?”

His hand is hovering over hers, and before she can overthink it, she grabs it and squeezes. She swallows the lump in her throat, trying not to think about the heat of his palm and how _right_ it feels with his fingers slotted between hers. She forces herself to meet his gaze again. “I’m glad you’re home.”

She can hear Annette and Ashe scream, “Happy New Year!” from the other side of the room, but she’s focused on the pink in Sylvain’s cheeks and wonders if it’s from the alcohol he brought. A tight squeeze of her hand brings her eyes back to his. Somehow, the gold in his eyes melts even further and she’s lost. _So_ _lost_ , as her mouth dries when that small smile, just for her, grows on his lips. “Me too.”

And maybe not for the first time, if she’s honest with herself, Ingrid wonders what it would be like to kiss her best friend with the secret sunshine smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, being giddy, that I finally figured out how to write this chapter.
> 
> NOW IT'S DONE! 
> 
> For the next few months, I will most likely not be writing any more sylvgrid to prepare for my applications (and writing a wholeeeeee lot of other documents haha). However, there is still one more chapter to this mini series, as well as two more separate stories that will round out the completion of best laid plans (as of now)!
> 
> or at least... that's my plan ;). 
> 
> I'll upload slowly over the next few days, and I'll upload the super special (super long??? comparatively for me) one on Sylvain's birthday. you'll see why :).
> 
> this chapter ended up longer than I expected, so it may make the remaining chapters feel shorter, but I hope you'll enjoy them anyway?
> 
> side note: fun fact, i actually wrote the last scene of this story first and worked around it. also, did you catch the unofficial countdown i snuck into the writing?


	5. best laid plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid never planned for anyone to find out, but somehow someway, Sylvain will figure it out.
> 
> Or
> 
> Sylvain follows a hunch and hates that he's right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry"

Ingrid's phone buzzes repeatedly on her nightstand and she whips her hand out to silence the call. Her eyes shift to the time. _2350._ She groans and flops back in bed, letting the light from her phone screen fade. Seconds later, her phone buzzes again and she snaps into sitting position, glaring at the caller ID.

Grudgingly accepting the call, she unlocks her phone and grumbles, “ _what?_ ”

To her mild surprise, the other voice skips the pleasantries too and gets straight to the point. “Come to the door.” Then he hangs up.

Ingrid stares at her phone in silence, only the light knocking on her door breaking her out of her confusion. Hurriedly throwing on a sweater, she stalks out of her bedroom and swings her apartment door open to find Sylvain with nothing but the clothes on his back and a bag of groceries, standing on her doorstep, albeit with an unreadable expression on his face. Her mind briefly flickers back to how they held hands on New Year’s, how she drunkenly thought about kissing him…

She wills the heat rising in her chest to _stay put_. Instead, she frowns. “What are you doing here, Sylvain? It’s almost midnight. Don’t you have a plane to catch back to Gautier?”

He shrugs and idly kicks at the carpet beneath his shoes. “I don’t know, Ingrid. Why aren’t you in Galatea with your family right now?”

She bristles, but he cuts her off. “I came here on a hunch. Didn’t think I would be right though.”

“Sylvain—”

“I thought we said we’d talk to each other more. After what happened on Christmas Eve.”

Ingrid purses her lips, annoyance buzzing underneath her skin. She can’t help but bite out, “Feels pretty shitty, huh?”

Sylvain meets her gaze head on, genuine guilt reflected back at her, before his face is schooled back into careful neutrality. “Yeah. It does. I’m sorry.” He fidgets in place, shifting his weight and the bags in his hand. “Can I come in?”

She debates shutting the door on him, but the tugging in her chest tells her otherwise. Her eyes drop to his hands. “What are those for?”

“A surprise.”

She looks back at him, but his face doesn’t give anything away. His eyes bore into hers. “So?”

She sighs and steps to the side, allowing Sylvain to slip into her small studio apartment. As soon as she does, his posture perks up and he near bounces through the doorway, kicking off his boots and tossing the bags he carries into her fridge.

She raises an eyebrow as she joins him in the kitchen, the new smile on his face betraying nothing. Ingrid continues to stare at him in silence, still trying to figure out why he came _here_ , when he has work to do back in Gautier, now that he interns with his father. To his credit, Sylvain doesn’t shrink under her scrutiny. In fact, he stares right back at her, studying her.

She’s not sure what expression she has on that causes him to sigh in exasperation, one hand flying to his face and the other resting on his hip, but then he’s crossing the room, over to her, and pulls her into a fierce hug. That same scent of honey, leather, and cinnamon fills her, and her heart throbs once. Twice. She pushes through the sudden wobble in her voice. “…Sylvain?”

Her breath catches in her throat as he squeezes her tighter, his voice low in her ear. “Ingrid, you… you didn’t think I was going to let you spend your birthday alone, did you?”

Speechless, Ingrid does nothing as he pulls away, hands gripping her shoulders, sharp eyes piercing through her. “You told us your family wasn’t doing anything to celebrate this year because of your father’s health, but not that you weren’t going home at all…”

A pressure begins to build behind her eyes, but she stubbornly sets her jaw and opts to stare at a spot just over Sylvain’s shoulder. Much to her dismay, he shifts until he’s in her line of sight, that gold in his eyes glinting back at her.

Something wet rolls down her cheek and she blinks, swallowing hard as a finger gently brushes it away. Without missing a beat, Sylvain tucks her back into him, chin resting on the top of her head, her face pressed against his neck, and suddenly, her vision goes blurry. She feels, rather than hears, the short hollow laugh that escapes him. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that you _drove_ all the way to Dimitri’s from Garreg Mach, instead of flying in from Galatea like you usually do? Seven months away doesn’t erase more than a decade of friendship, you know.”

Her lungs rattle violently as an unbidden sob wracks through her, tears dripping freely from her eyes onto Sylvain’s skin. His grip tightens on her and she _hates this._

Hates how perceptive he is.

Hates how he ends up digging up all her secrets, no matter how deep she buries them.

Another sob escapes her and his voice rumbles from his chest into her own. “I’ve got you, Ingrid. I’ve got you.”

Her own arms fly up around him, hands clutching her best friend to her, unable to stop the trembling now that it’s started. One of his hands smooths down her hair and Ingrid’s fingers twist in his shirt.

She _especially_ hates how now that he’s here, she doesn’t want to let him go.

* * *

Ingrid wakes with a start and groans at how sore her eyes are from crying. She didn’t even remember passing out. Her sweater was still on, but she was back in her bed, tucked into her covers. Weariness still weighed heavily in her bones and she sighs, sinking into her mattress even further. She was grateful Sylvain came, to help her release all that pent-up energy, but she was never fond of how empty she felt afterward.

And she’s been doing a lot of crying recently.

One of her hands reach up to rub at her puffy eyes, the other moving to push off her blankets. The light in her kitchen is still on, and she could hear the soft rustling of paper bags if she really concentrated.

She teeters out of bed, still slightly disoriented from just waking up, and makes her way out of her room. As silently as she can, she peers over the edge of her doorframe and spots Sylvain bent over the counter, one hand ruffling his hair in frustration. “Beat three eggs… beat them at _what?_ Be more specific Dedue _…_ ”

A quick snort escapes her, and she claps her hands over her face, quickly ducking back behind her door. Silence fell over her apartment and Ingrid holds her breath. _He didn’t… hear her, did he?_ A strange sort of guilt, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t be, settles over her.

A few moments later, she hears the rustling again and hears Sylvain mutter to himself, “hand whisking it is then, can’t risk waking the birthday girl.”

The sounds of metal on glass start shortly after, but Ingrid can’t hear them over the buzzing in her ears. She releases the breath she’s holding shakily and presses her hand to her chest, hard. As if it could soften the pounding of her heartbeat.

She leans against her wall and slowly slides to the floor, curling in on herself as she feels the stinging of tears return. Ingrid bites her lip as she continues to listen to Sylvain bump around in her kitchen whispering recipe instructions and wrinkling paper, the hum of her microwave, and finally the slide of a metal pan against the metal racks of her oven.

Her shoulders are beginning to get sore from her position on the ground, and her wet cheeks starting to dry, but it’s not until the smell of strawberries fill her apartment does Ingrid close her eyes and surrender to the exhaustion of the last few hours.

She’s toeing the line between consciousness and dreams when a pair of arms gently lift her from the floor. S _o warm…_

Ingrid turns her face into the soft warmth that surrounds her and sighs contentedly, smiling at the steady thrumming heartbeat beneath her ear. She vaguely hears a low rumble but can’t make out any words as she slips further away. Her cheek touches the cool surface of her pillow and she frowns, _where did her warmth go?_

Her hands blindly reach out and make contact with the warmth from before. Her fingers latch on tightly, and she only relaxes when the warmth blooms in the center of her palm, then encases her entire hand. She inhales deeply one last time, catching the smell of strawberries and cinnamon before she tips over the edge of sleep.

* * *

Sylvain studies the way his hand is trapped within Ingrid’s grasp and the small smile that remains on her face as she finally falls asleep. The corner of his lips quirks up and he sighs, shifting on the ground so he can rest his elbows on her bed. He lets his head fall forward, bouncing lightly as fatigue seeps into his body, the last few hours finally catching up to him.

After Christmas, Sylvain found himself in the kitchen with Dedue, late into the hours of the night practicing with cake batter. Occasionally, Annette and Mercedes would join them, becoming his unofficial taste testers. After his fifth attempt, for the third night in a row, he finally got it right. Annette and Mercedes hummed in delight as they cut another piece to share, even Dedue gave him an affirming nod.

Curious, he reached over and scooped some for himself, eyes widening. “Ah, this is delicious! I can’t believe I made it.”

Dedue cracked a rare smile. “Yes, you do have some talent.”

He smiled back, a strange feeling of accomplishment welling in his chest. Annette was practically vibrating in her seat. “Not that we’re complaining about the delicious cake Sylvain, but what is this all for?”

His heart skipped a beat and one of his hands flew up to the back of his head. “Ah… I hear girls love a man who can cook.”

Mercedes gave him a look that made him feel like she could see right through him.

…And she probably could, because she smiled mildly and said, “this wouldn’t happen to be for Ingrid’s birthday, would it? That’s coming up in a few days.”

Sylvain simultaneously felt his body light on fire and break out into a cold sweat. “Er—”

Annette slammed her hands on the table so loudly that he flinched, eyes darting to the hallway in panic. “Sylvain! That’s so cute, I can’t wait to celebrate! Especially with a cake as delicious as this! I’m sure she’ll love it.”

His racing heart only slowed when Mercedes placed her hands on Annette’s shoulders, coaxing her back into her seat, shushing her. He cleared his throat. “We’re not… exactly celebrating it. She has some family stuff going on, so she’s heading out early after the New Year’s party.”

He watched Annette visibly deflate, but Mercedes continued to study him. He fidgeted uncomfortably under her gaze. Then, Dedue spoke, “I do not mind these late night sessions, Sylvain, but are we not already baking her cookies for her to take home with her? A cake is considerably more difficult to travel with.”

He frowned, thinking back to the first night he saw Ingrid in her car. “Yeah, I know we are. Just… I don’t think she’s going home. To Galatea.”

He received three matching frowns back and he shrugged. “Let’s just call it a hunch. Don’t worry about it.”

Annette fiddled with the fork in her hand. “…Where would she go then?”

Sylvain paused. “Probably back to her apartment. I was going to go check on her—”

“Then, we’ll come with you.”

His eyes snapped to Mercedes and he hurriedly shook his head. “No! No, you guys don’t have to. It’s just a sneaking suspicion. A dumb guy like me? I’m not going to have all of you waste your time following me with this—”

Annette cuts him off. “You’re smarter than you make yourself out to be, Sylvain.”

Dedue nodded in agreement, looking troubled. “Indeed. Ingrid did not tell us of this, we should—”

Sylvain shook his head adamantly again. “No, really. I don’t have any basis for this. I don’t want to drag you guys all the way to a little bit past Garreg Mach and show up to an empty apartment if I’m wrong with no backup plan. I can go alone, then only one of us has wasted their time.”

Dedue narrowed his eyes. “Is your time not important too, Sylvain? What of the duties you have back in Gautier after these celebrations?”

Sylvain sighed, thinking of the conversation he was going to have to have with his father over skipping the scheduled flight back. “I spent seven months in Sreng. They can afford to let me have a few weeks to myself to check on my friends.”

The four of them fell silent at that and Sylvain idly tapped his fingers against the counter top, staring at the abandoned cake in front of them. He threw an easy smile on his face. “Well? Any feedback this time besides pure deliciousness?”

A few days later, after the New Year’s party, Ingrid hugged each of them goodbye. Maybe he imagined it, but he thought he saw a blush color her cheeks as she lingered a little longer than usual in his arms. Then, she was in her car, driving away. The rest of the guests slowly trickled back home as well, to spend time with their respective families and loved ones.

Later that evening, Sylvain was back in the kitchen after the remaining Blue Lions went to sleep, waiting on another trial cake in the oven while his fingers fiddled with the edge of the written recipe Dedue gave him. He heard a chair scrape against the floor, and he was not surprised to see Mercedes sitting at the counter, sisterly smile on her face. He smiled in kind. “Mercedes, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Oh, you know me. I can’t resist a tasty treat, even late at night. It smells even more delicious than the last one, Sylvain.”

His smile broadened and he winked. “Are you sure it was the cake that brought you here, or me?”

Mercedes laughed in earnest and Sylvain couldn’t find it in himself to be offended. He took the seat next to her, leaning his elbows on the counter and staring at the timer he set. A comfortable silence falling between them as the seconds ticked by.

He’d never really been able to talk to his childhood friends about Miklan, him being the oldest out of all of them. It didn't seem right to, especially after the accident with Dimitri's family and Glenn. Somehow, after meeting Mercedes in a philosophy class at Garreg Mach, she’d weaseled it out of him and he was suddenly spilling years of secrets out to her patient ears. She’d been such a comforting presence, and Sylvain laughed to himself after she handed him a tissue and gave him a hug.

_Is that what having an older sibling is actually like?_

Since then, she’d been a silent pillar of support behind him, whenever he needed to vent but couldn’t quite force the words out to his best friends because he didn’t want to burden them.

The timer went off and he jumped out of his chair, pulling his latest cake out of the oven to cool. He was in the process of fanning the heat away when Mercedes finally speaks up. “You’re actually very sweet, Sylvain.”

He almost dropped the tray he was holding. His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes darted over to her, innocent smile plastered on her face. He gulped. “Well, that’s not something I hear every day.”

She laughed quietly. “I saw you and Ingrid holding hands on New Year’s. You looked happy. Both of you did.”

A blush burned hot on his cheeks and he looked away, all retorts he had dying in his throat. Mercedes hummed absently and stood from her chair. “No matter what you think of yourself Sylvain, you deserve happiness. Let yourself have it and feel it, okay?”

Without another word, Mercedes turned around and headed back to her room. Sylvain stared after her in shock and chuckled weakly to himself. “Guess she really did come for me and not the cake…”

Next thing he knew, he was outside Ingrid’s apartment after a stiff train ride, doubt brewing in his stomach. The lights were out, but it was also almost midnight. He got sidetracked at the University grocery on his way here, second guessing himself the entire time.

Then, he spotted her car and he pulled out his phone.

And now, he's here, his fingers laced with hers as she finally gets the rest she so desperately needs. Blowing his hair out of his face, Sylvain props his chin up on his forearms and looks at his sleeping best friend again. _Really_ looks at her.

Her eyes were puffy from the crying she finally let herself do, dark circles growing deeper underneath. The crease in her forehead is smoothed out and the line of her shoulders finally relaxed in her slumber.

He smiles at that.

Ingrid shifts with a soft groan and pulls his hand closer to her, nestling deeper into her pillows, her breath washing over his skin. Sylvain’s cheeks burn as he’s forced to move closer, to adjust the awkward angle his arm is in to keep his hand in hers. He exhales softly and mumbles, “you really threw a wrench into all of my plans, you know that, Ing?”

He rests his cheek on his forearm and watches her steady breathing, heart thumping painfully. His smile turns wry. “You ruined all of my plans to skip class in high school, ruined my plans to drop out of college, and you really…” he trails off.

Sylvain sighs again, remembering all the times she dragged him down the hallway away from giggling girls and back to his classes in high school, staying up late with him to make sure he finished his homework in college, pushing him out of his third part-time job because she caught onto his self-sabotage to drop out of school so he wouldn’t have to deal with his family’s responsibilities and expectations after graduation…

Remembering how his mouth dried seeing her in her graduation dress and how his heart would flutter any time she was near thereafter.

And how it still does.

His chest tightens as he continues to watch her sleep. Fear, exasperation, and fondness lurk in the back of his mind as he whispers into the dark for unhearing ears.

“You really ruined all my plans to not fall in love with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end of a change of pace!! two more stories left to go :)
> 
> i actually wasn't going to upload this until Friday, but I just finished an exam and turns out, I c a n still speak English and only stuck my foot in my mouth twice.
> 
> so let's celebrate!!
> 
> this piece was actually one of the first prompts requested by one of my IRL sylvain enablers and boy, did she get more than just one fic back from this... hahahaha. this became an entire series and an entire modern au.
> 
> is it tropey? yes. is it overdone? yes. did i do it anyway? y e s.

**Author's Note:**

> my fitbit told me my heart rate went to 38 yesterday around midnight. i was confused bc i thought i was sleeping and it's never gone that low.
> 
> ...then i realized i was still awake doing homework.
> 
> when sleep is more stimulating that coursework... it's time to post some sylvgrid.
> 
> this mini-series takes place 3 years after 'graduation plans', when the remaining trio are in their 3rd year of college and Sylvain a fresh graduate, and 2-3 years before 'cotton & gauze'. no need to read the others, as my writing style strays toward 1k words of present tense littered with introspective recollections than writing an event from start to finish... :').
> 
> my brain and fingers apparently have no patience for that so instead we have this. I spent a lot of time camping in Sylvain's brain, it was time to hike over to Ingrid's, so I can give her the love she deserves.


End file.
